The Human Frame
by Sidney Sussex
Summary: Clockwork AU.  In a world of automatons, Sherlock is not.


_I neither own nor profit from any of these characters; they are the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC._

_If you see something that you think ought to be changed or improved, please feel free to let me know, if you'd like. Constructive criticism is always welcome._

_Special thanks to ImpishTubist for having read this over for me._

_A/N: And now for something completely different?_

_CrazyCousinEiko has done beautiful charcoal fanart of this story here (is . gd / humanframe). Please go and take a look - it's absolutely gorgeous._

* * *

><p>Mummy Holmes built Sherlock.<p>

No, not built. _Made._

Sherlock is different. Not like Daddy. Not like Mycroft.

Sherlock was _made_, not built.

* * *

><p>Sherlock doesn't know who his real father is. Mummy says it doesn't matter, that Daddy is his real father now, but Sherlock knows that isn't true.<p>

Mummy didn't like his real father, so she built Daddy instead.

She likes Daddy a lot. More than she likes Sherlock. That's why she built another one, so that she could have Mycroft.

Mummy says Mycroft is perfect. She never says that about Sherlock.

* * *

><p>Mycroft came after Sherlock, but Mummy made him older. Mycroft is always older. She made him bigger, faster, stronger. She gave him more knowledge, too.<p>

Sherlock tries to know what Mycroft knows, but he is not the same as Mycroft. He has to learn the things he knows. Mycroft just _has_ it all.

Mummy says Mycroft has a bigger hard drive, so he can store everything. Sherlock has to delete unimportant things to make room for new ones.

Sherlock is always trying to catch up, be better, be more like Mycroft. He wants to be perfect, too.

* * *

><p>Mummy says Sherlock isn't a proper human. She says they'll never accept him as a human.<p>

He runs, crying, to Mycroft. He's not good enough to be an automaton. He's not good enough to be a human. What is he?

Mycroft, who never cries, strokes his back, but even though he knows everything, Mycroft doesn't know what to say.

* * *

><p>Sherlock goes to university.<p>

He comes home from lectures late one night, and three of his classmates jump him as he walks up the stairs to his dormitory. They tell him automatons shouldn't be allowed to take classes with human beings. They tell him he shouldn't exist. They tell him to leave.

They leave him bleeding on the lawn. The blood is not enough to convince them that he is real.

Nor are the tears.

* * *

><p>He leaves university and takes to the streets.<p>

Food is scarce, but he has long since taught himself to have as few human needs as possible.

The drugs make him need food even less, and he discovers that they speed up his reactions, clear his mind of cobwebs, make him _better_.

He injects into his arm, because snorting implies that he breathes, and breathing is a weakness. He injects, and the world opens up to him.

He wonders if this is what Mycroft feels like all the time.

* * *

><p>Sherlock finds the body only minutes before the police arrive. The head of the investigation team (<em>Lestrade<em>, he hears someone say) is human, but his team are not.

He tells them how the murder was committed, tells them who they're looking for. They don't ask how he knows. They don't suspect him, even though he was found alone with the body. Automatons don't kill human beings; it's a law of programming.

He wants to take pride in the fact that he's better than all of them, the human and his automatons. But it doesn't mean anything. He's still not good enough.

Mycroft sends him a text solving the case. Mycroft doesn't even need to see the body to deduce the answer. Mummy would be proud.

Sherlock is still not good enough.

* * *

><p>After this happens twice, three times, perhaps more, Lestrade grows to accept Sherlock's presence at his crime scenes. He has never seen an automaton as good.<p>

At one point, Lestrade tries to buy Sherlock from Mummy. She refuses to sell, but doesn't tell Lestrade the truth.

So Sherlock assumes it should be kept a secret, and goes on letting everyone assume he isn't flesh and blood.

It's easier this way, and Mummy once told him he'd never be accepted as a real human.

* * *

><p>It's normally not done for humans and automatons to cohabit, but John Watson is a war veteran, not rich, and desperate. Sherlock, too, is poor, and unconcerned with social mores.<p>

By now, it's inconceivable that he might tell the truth of what he is.

Instead, John makes a weak joke about how at least Sherlock will never come to him for treatment, and Sherlock gives him a cold, uncomprehending look.

They move into a flat in Baker Street. Sherlock gets them a deal, and John doesn't ask too many questions.

* * *

><p>Sherlock brings John to a crime scene on the night they meet. Better he know right away what Sherlock does, and this truth will make Sherlock's lies more convincing.<p>

He taunts Anderson (_is your wife away for long_) and Donovan (_I'm sure she scrubbed your floor, going by the state of her knees_). It's the worst insult a human can give to an automaton, to remind them of the ways in which they are inadequate, inhuman, not real.

It's taboo for one automaton to say to another, too, but no one really expects Sherlock to follow that kind of rule.

* * *

><p>John Watson is more human than anyone Sherlock has ever known.<p>

John is golden, light and warmth and happiness and home. He smells of tea and warm skin. Sherlock can hear his heartbeat.

Sherlock is silver, copper, cold.

He looks down at his body, wrapped in silks, designer fabrics. He pictures ticking gears, whirring cogs and thin, steel wires. He wishes all of it were true, so that he didn't have to feel.

Sherlock can't have John Watson.

* * *

><p>Sherlock keeps bringing John along on cases. John thinks it's because he likes the admiration.<p>

Sherlock doesn't tell him that it's because John is the only thread of connection he still has to his own humanity, and lately, that's something he no longer wants so desperately to lose.

John says _brilliant_, _fantastic_, _amazing_ at the right intervals.

He doesn't tell Sherlock that what he really means is, _I wish we could be closer_.

_I wish you were human._

* * *

><p>Humans and automatons aren't supposed to be friends. Colleagues, at best.<p>

Sherlock forgets one day and introduces John as his friend. John, indoctrinated into society's rules, is quick to correct. He's absolutely right, of course. Sherlock is ashamed to have forgotten.

He can't hide the way his face falls when John does it, but he tries.

John doesn't seem to notice.

Sherlock doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

* * *

><p>They solve puzzles – five pips, then four, then three.<p>

They save lives – one, then two, and not the third.

John is angrier than Sherlock has ever seen him. He shouts, and the words fall on Sherlock like blows.

_There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives!_

Human lives. So at least Sherlock knows where John stands.

He retreats into himself, becomes the cold, unfeeling automaton he's been all his life. After all, that's what John already thinks he is. Why not live up to it?

_And you find that easy, do you?_

_Yes, very._

John is disappointed in him. Sherlock can't bring himself to care.

* * *

><p>The man across from him – Jim Moriarty – might kill him. Sherlock still can't bring himself to care.<p>

It's only when he says he won't that Sherlock begins to pay attention.

_I will burn you_, Moriarty says instead. _I will burn the heart out of you._

Sherlock would smile, if he were still trying to be human. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would be scared. It's been too long; he doesn't know.

_I have been reliably informed that I don't have one_, he replies. There are benefits to being an automaton. Clockwork men don't feel.

_But we both know that's not quite true._

He freezes.

* * *

><p>John sits on the couch at 221B. Sherlock, for the first time in his life, makes tea.<p>

John says, softly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock doesn't know what he's talking about until John reaches up, takes his hand and tugs him down onto the couch. He rests his head against Sherlock's chest, and Sherlock's breath, the breath he isn't supposed to have, catches in his throat.

John says, "Your heart beats."

Sherlock feels like it might stop right then and there.

* * *

><p>It's a surprise to everyone when John doesn't leave Sherlock after the pool. It's not as though they're friends or anything. Automatons don't have friends.<p>

They're at a crime scene one day when John takes Sherlock's face in both his hands and kisses him.

The team gasp in shock (of course; they're stupid). Lestrade's eyes narrow with confusion, then widen in sudden understanding.

Sherlock doesn't care who knows he's human anymore.

John says Sherlock is perfect.


End file.
